


Lesson Three; On the Exchange Rate of Younger Siblings

by an_evasive_author



Series: Continued Studies of Fatherhood [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Nelyafinwe is not stupid. He knows full well that his parents have not suddenly stopped loving him, just because Macalaurë arrived one day.However, he can hardly say the same about his parents. Because they are, in fact, quite stupid. Nelyafinwe does not mind, they cannot help it, after all. But between forgetting to read Nelyafinwe his bedtime stories and stumbling around the house dead-eyed, it is rather apparent that they are not ready for such responsibilities.But luckily they have Nelyo to be responsible for them.





	Lesson Three; On the Exchange Rate of Younger Siblings

Things had changed when Macalaurë had arrived.

Nelyafinwe still wondered why his parents found it necessary to get another son when they already had him. Was he not enough?

It was just as well, Nelyafinwe supposed, as long as they knew what they where getting themselves into. Or it would have been; It had become rather apparent that they where, in fact, over their heads.

He could not judge them too harshly for it, Nelyafinwe thought. His parents where, after all, not very smart.

Macalaurë had a way of pulling his parents attention to him. For example; Ata would have only just spread out his drawing of some kind of crown-thing, all twisty with dangly gems hanging off the side when Macalaurë would coo in his little bassinet with the frilly decoration all around it.

Then Ata would get up and do whatever it was Macalaurë compelled him to do and Nelyafinwe could not give his valuable insight onto which gems to use for the crown.

His mother was not much different, though she would most often be covered in stone dust that got all over the carpet. But the result was much the same and it seemed that Macalaurë took over all their free time.

Macalaurë was not very good at looking out for himself, Nelyafinwe decided. He couldn't even cut the crust off his bread like Nelyafinwe could. Even worse, his brother only ever ate milk which was the single blandest thing he could think of.

Macalaurë also cried a lot. Nelyafinwe, admittedly did so too, but only did when he skinned his knee or fell from one of the trees in the garden. Granted, this too happened often but at the very least he had a good reason for it.

Also his little brother seemed to have problems telling apart his hands from his feet, flailing them all around on the rug he was wriggling on like a caterpillar, trying his very best to gnaw on his own toes.

Nelyafinwe watched his little brother trash around for a while before he turned back to his wooden castle.

He had spent a good part of the afternoon setting it all up, the archers and the footsoldiers all laid out in neat, tidy rows. Much care had gone into getting it all just right. So much, in fact, that he had not even started with the enemy lines yet.

But how could an army fight without a proper foe? Not at all, of course.

Turning to his toy chest, he searched for something to make a worthy opponent.

Well… he _could_ use his brother. Macalaurë could likely throw over Nelyafinwe's soldiers quite easily if placed favourably. But how would he get his brother to admit defeat? And there was of course the issue of him being rather stationary if no one picked him up and carried him around.

Things had changed when Naneth and Ata had brought his brother home. When asked how that had happened, they would not give a satisfying answer and instead they would giggle and nudge each other and then there would be kissing. Lots of kissing. It was wise to vacate the area at that point.

How mean to keep him out of the secret. He should be allowed to know, he was _very_ mature. Miraculously, stomping his feet and moping did not appear to convince his parents of this obvious fact.

But he supposed he could not blame them too much, Nelyafinwe thought as he rallied his defensive line around the castle walls. They where, after all, not very smart.

* * *

Fëanáro did not get tired; No, not he. Weariness was the vice of the weak, not his burden to carry and not his problem to worry about.

No, Fëanáro got inattentive. The times spent slung over his favourite couch, unresponsive, lightly snoring, was merely spent in _intense_ meditation.

But he could hardly be blamed now, could he? Had he not spent the entire golden cycle in the smith, working and creating awe-inspiring works of art to dazzle the feeble masses? He should be allowed to feel weary after such exertion.

How unlucky it was then, that he decided to let his guard down as he entered the living chambers, for already the ambush awaited.

He took a step forward to weasel himself away from any more chores by thinking on the sofa for a while when he stepped onto something pointy. On instinct he pulled back and made to step onto safer ground only to be greeted by another wooden figurine for him to trample.

Fully off-balance, Fëanáro took a graceless tumble and brushed away scores of helpless soldiers in his effort to stay upright. They where swept aside in his surprised stagger, like ants facing a mighty wave.

Fëanáro had no eye for such wanton, awe-inspiring destruction and instead cursed in surprise as he turned halfway, nearly twisted his ankle and crashed to the floor.

There was silence for a while, not even Macalaurë made any noise.

Fëanáro looked up from where he lay, amidst the ruined remnants of a mighty battle. Oh, he had surely won, but at what cost? At what cost?

He turned his head to fix the culprit, the commander of this army and expostulate with the little warmonger who would see Fëanáro fall. Perhaps he would use easier words then 'expostulate', Nelyafinwe was not quite so far in his studies as to understand difficult words.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young one?” asked Fëanáro with deathly calm. Toys where crunched beneath him, some hung in his hair or had managed to tangle themselves in his clothes.

Nelyafinwe thought about his answer, his ears twitched as he chewed on his lip. Then he turned, “I accept you as the victor in this battle. Is lunch ready? I'm hungry.” Then he got up and bounded away, out of the room, leaving Fëanáro to deal with the survivors of the battle. His father watched him go, not quite certain

With the tension deflated before it could simmer, Macalaurë babbled quietly to himself once more, hands fumbling for his beloved toy, a little yellow star with a happy face stitched onto one side. Something inside the stuffy rattled quietly when shaken, like grains against thin wood. His sound had become somewhat of a background percussion for the family of Fëanáro, because few things could tear Macalaurë's interest away from it.

He remained like this for a while, still covered in toys, until Nerdanel entered to whisk away little Macalaurë for his meal, much to the child's cooing delight.

“Fëanáro,” she scolded mildly, “Stop playing with your son's toys and come take your meal, we are already waiting.”

Scorned by the universe and his wife, Fëanáro huffed and picked himself out of the rubble for the promise of food.

* * *

Nelyafinwe voiced his own concerns as they sat together for dinner. Well, all but Macalaurë who had finished his feast earlier and now burbled to himself on his soft rug. Dining had left him quite exhausted and he had not even the mind to shake his toy around.

It left Nelyafinwe with his parents for himself, which of course meant Nelyo could be sure Naneth and Ata would not get distracted. It was not always easy to be the responsible one in the house.

“I shall be gone for a while, I need to inspect the marble quarries.”

With his mother's priorities skewed, Nelyafinwe brought his flawless reasoning to bear, “Naneth, don't go. Ata doesn't do the funny voices when he reads.” Which of course would mean disaster come story time. As such, priorities needed to be set. Goodnight stories with proper voices naturally set far higher than dusty quarries. She would have to see the rightness of that argument.

Fëanáro grumbled to himself while ate. Certainly, at this rate, he could set the food in front of him ablaze simply with his temper. A shame that the smell of burned meat would settle in the walls.

Instead he took his wrath to the potatoes and the fury the vegetables experienced was truly something to behold. What did not get mashed was swiftly drowned in sauce and stabbed with the spoon before Fëanáro devoured it with grim satisfaction.

Nerdanel, as always, was no help. Instead she leaned closer and playfully poked Nelyafinwe's nose, “He does not? My, it seems you will have to teach him while I'm gone.”

Nelyafinwe, aware that his protests fell on deaf ears, sighed with all the weight of duty-filled centuries he had never experienced. But he nodded like a generous lord granting a boon, “Very well, I suppose I have to.”

* * *

Nelyafinwe liked the book with the mischievous magpie the very best. He could recite it flawlessly when presented with the pictures and so it was reasonable to say that he was the highest authority to decide if the voices his father used to read where the correct ones.

So far Nelyafinwe, snug in bed, tucked in properly with the corners all neatly stuffed under the mattress, was very much dissatisfied.

Ata had braved his way through the beginning, lilted through the part with the nest-building and finally, with many a repeated sentence had come to the best part.

It would not have been fair to demand for Naneth now, especially since she had brought Macalaurë to bed tonight. Normally it was the other way around and the fact that she would be gone for what would be an eternity and Nelyafinwe would be stuck with his father's abysmal performance did nothing to improve his mood.

Fëanáro sighed once, flipped the page and blinked wearily for a while before he continued. “ _And the-- magpie, who was very, very naughty indeed, said..._ ”

Nelyafinwe pricked his ears to judge the performance that would follow.

He waited. But the magpie did not say anything, not even in a terrible impression. Nelyafinwe turned and saw his father asleep in his chair. Dark hair hid his face, his shoulders rose and fell in time with the book bopping up and down on his lap.

Well, _marvelous_ , just wonderful...

The things Nelyafinwe put up with...

* * *

Nerdanel did not often get the chance to put Macalaurë to bed like this. Nelyo, pernickety to a fault, had very high standards when it came to his stories. But Fëanáro would never get better if he did not practice.

And perhaps she was just a tad selfish in her desire to have her youngest to herself for once, especially since she would be gone for so long.

Done with shaking the stuffed star to appease her youngest son, kissed Macalaurë's brow and tucked him in until only his dear little face and his twitching hands where left free. She smiled at Macalaurë, who looked like someone had spilled him into his bed. Nerdanel lingered just a while longer, stroking a finger over Macalaurë's palm. Fingers curled around her own, _squeezed_ and relaxed again.

With one child shushed for the foreseeable time, Nerdanel now only needed to see that everything was in order with Nelyafinwe.

Wandering about the quiet hallways, she allowed herself to wonder. Perhaps there would still be time to spend with her husband before she would leave. She pushed the door open.

Or perhaps she would not...

Nelyafinwe, arms crossed in front of his chest, turned his head and gave his mother a flat, unimpressed stare. Fëanáro, who was very much asleep, snored away under a blanket Nelyafinwe had thrown over him, perhaps in an attempt to tuck him in.

“Ah, this is—well...” Nerdanel conceded and pulled the blanket from Fëanáro who's head lolled to the side. Her husband mumbled, twitched his ears and would have continued sleeping undisturbed had Nerdanel not pulled him to his feet and strong armed him to their own bedroom. “I shall be back in a moment, dear,” she said over her shoulder and continued to shove Fëanáro along.

She had set out to bring two family members to bed and in a way she had succeeded. Sometimes it was important to count the small victories, however much one had to twist them around.

Fëanáro grunted quietly as he fell into bed and did not rise again. Nerdanel swung his legs onto the mattress so he lay there properly, threw a blanket over him and kissed her snoring husband before once more making the walk to Nelyafinwe's room.

Too busy pouting, Nelyafinwe was still awake when she sat down next to him.

“Naneth, can't you stay?”

“It will only be for a little while, sweetheart. Two changings of the light and I will be right back.”

“That's too long.”

Nerdanel shushed him with wordless, cooing sounds and giggled at his adorable gripe, “Oh, but sweetheart, you are so very grown up. I am sure you will manage to watch over your brother and father, won't you?”

When Nelyafinwe continued his very much grown up grousing, Nerdanel opened the book and flipped to the first page. “Would a few funny voices help you?”

Nelyafinwe smiled brightly, remembered that he was still angry and tried to stuff his smile back down. “I suppose.”

* * *

When Nelyafinwe awoke, Naneth had already left.

No one had woken him up. That was a problem, who would make him breakfast? Nelyafinwe could not help but notice this subpar behaviour.

Waking Ata proved somewhat of a challenge, but jumping on his back did the trick. Fëanáro rolled over, nearly fell from his side of the bed and sighed. “Yes, Nelyo. A moment, please. Your brother kept me quite busy.” It did not sound that coherent nor awake as Fëanáro most likely thought it was. Instead it came out mumbled and rumbled and Fëanáro blinked blearily.

“Why?” asked Nelyafinwe as he rolled around the large bed and buried underneath the warm sheets.

“He misses your mother,” replied Fëanáro and peeled himself out of bed, hair mussed and clothing rumbled. Then he snatched up a squealing Nelyafinwe and threw him over his shoulder as he walked out of the bedchamber and hopefully towards breakfast.

Having Naneth gone set things into perspective just how helpless his parents where when they had not the advantage of numbers. Mostly because Nelyafinwe was bored quite terribly, with Ata either busy with Macalaurë or cooped up in his workshop.

Nelyafinwe was not completely certain about the circumstances at how one acquired a child. His brother was there and so that meant the process could be repeated, it seemed.

Not too long ago, they had visited the farms outside the city perimeters and his father had spent far too long talking about boring things. But there had been chicks and lambs and calves which Nelyafinwe had been allowed to pet. Great big horses and little foals with soft noses too. All kinds of animals.

So, in conclusion it would be fair to assume that children could be found on some kind of farm as well. Even if it turned out that his little brother acted rather more like a vegetable, swaddled in his blankets like a pea in its pod, farms grew those as well.

Macalaurë burbled to himself when Nelyafinwe piled his brothers belongings into a basket. The clothes did not take much space up and there was only one toy Macalaurë showed any real interest in. Then, once everything was in order, Nelyafinwe put Macalaurë on top of the things to keep them there and threw a kerchief over him to conceal his brother from those who wouldn't understand what Nelyafinwe had set out to do.

Now to find the farm his brother had come from. He was sure he could get them to take him back, perhaps until his parents where a little more responsible.

* * *

“Make the wings bigger,” demanded Arafinwe from where they sat underneath a tree and only when Nolofinwe gave him a long, disapproving stare did he add a polite, “Please?”

“Why? Are three segments not enough?” Nolofinwe asked and gave his apple swan a critical look. The pieces where all carved properly, nothing had yet browned which was the surest way for Arafinwe to reject it.

“Oh, but I like them elaborate, please?”

“Only if you are not the one making them,” Nolofinwe muttered as he turned back to his work.

Arafinwe laughed brightly, “Of course, these are so much work, why would I do that for an apple?”

Nolofinwe did not look up but he did perk his ears. Lightly, as if he had not heard what his brother had said, he hummed, “What was that?”

Arafinwe fluttered his eyelashes and smiled adoringly, “You are so very _talented_ , big brother. I could never do it without your gracious help. Ah; Give it feathers too. Please.”

Nolofinwe grinned, “Well then, I had thought I had misheard.”

“Brother,” said Arafinwe suddenly and stabbed his finger at something in the distance. With something thrust into his field of vision, Nolofinwe nearly took the knife too deeply into the thin piece that made the apple swan's neck as he swivelled around in surprise.

“Is that Nelyafinwe?”

“Seems so.”

They watched their nephew hurl around a basket, growing more frustrated by the moment. “Should we help him, do you think?” asked Arafinwe.

“Do you wish to get involved?”

Before Arafinwe could reply, and because the universe seemed to have it out for Nolofinwe, Nelyafinwe spotted them.

“Nolo, he is coming towards us,” Arafinwe offered helpfully.

“Yes Ara, I can see that. What do you have me do? We can hardly flee. Just smile and bear it,” said Nolofinwe and put the knife away. Looking as non-threatening as possible, he would not want to be accused of anything.

Arafinwe did indeed smile a beatific, radiant smile that made him so very popular, “I can certainly do that.”

They watched him drag his basket towards them, struggle at the faint climb of their little hill. “I brought you something,” said Nelyafinwe after he had caught his breath, “You may do with it whatever.”

“A gift?” asked Arafinwe and clapped his hands together in excitement. His eyes sparkled like that of a very greedy child on his begetting day.

Nolofinwe, not easily swayed by the promises of gifts, tilted his head and looked towards his younger brother before he deftly pulled the blanket away.

One could not never be sure what these Feanorians could get up to, no matter the age; Caution was advised. Also fast reflexes to kick away whatever might spring on them.

He was not certain exactly what he had expected. Certainly not the tiny elf staring back at them.

For a short, blissful moment there was silence.

And then that moment passed.

Nolofinwe pulled away from the basket as if he had touched scorching metal and cursed just low enough under his breath that no one could scold him for swearing in front of children.

“I do believe that is little Macalaurë,” said Arafinwe, not even closely mirroring Nolofinwe's terror. Instead he turned to Nelyafinwe, “What will your parents say if you simply gave your brother away?”

Nelyafinwe shrugged, “I don't want him anymore. And Naneth said he is _my_ brother so I should be allowed to give him away if I do not want him.” Nelyafinwe said and the flawless logic of re-gifting unwanted gifts left his half-uncles floored.

Arafinwe began laughing though he had the sense to do so behind hands clapped over his mouth.

Nelyafinwe looked from one elf to the other, daring them to refuse him.

This needed a delicate, diplomatic approach, “Now, Nelyafinwe--” Nolofinwe said carefully and wondered how to best approach the situation.

Arafinwe was, as he so often felt inclined to be, no help. “Why, how thoughtful a gift. I'll take him.”

“Ara!” Nolofinwe chided his brother.

Nelyafinwe, satisfied with the answer, smiled a sunny smile and bolted off to do other things.

Nolofinwe watched his nephew prance away and felt only existential dread. “Ara, have you lost your mind?”

“How could I lose what I never had, silly?” Arafinwe asked patiently, smiled and turned to his newest distraction. Macalaurë had spent the time by chewing his fingers with pink, squishy, toothless gums; So at least one of them had been productive.

Arafinwe laughed brightly, “Are you not simply the most precious little thing? Yes you are.” he turned to Nolofinwe, “Yes, he is,” he informed.

Nolofinwe watched his brother sing-song away, playing with the child as if they had not just committed what could be interpreted as kidnapping. It looked so peaceful and domestic if one carefully forgot whom they where dealing with. Nolofinwe could not.

“Fëanáro will kill us. He will kill us. And then he will claim an unfortunate accident where I just happened to fall onto his hammer a few dozen times.” Nolofinwe huffed bitterly and wiped his face with both hands, “And father would believe him...” he added quietly without bothering to smother any of the glumness.

“Don't be like that, Nolo,” chided Arafinwe and turned back to his nephew squirming about in his little basket. Showered with so much attention, little Macalaurë became quite animated.

The little elf looked rather content, merely thumping his tiny fists against the soft blankets and blowing the odd raspberry from time to time. Arafinwe cooed at the sight and waggled his fingers about to entertain the tiny elf. It had the intended effect, as Macalaurë batted for Arafinwe's hand with his own clumsy ones. There was burbled babbling, rather copious amounts of cooing as their nephew was attended and at the centre of attention.

Arafinwe laughed when Macalaurë curled tiny fingers around Arafinwe's thumb, “He is as easily entertained as I am. And a talker; Listen how expressive he is.”

Nolofinwe merely continued to mumble doom and gloom to himself though his ears twitched at the sound of his half-nephew's delighted noises.

“It will be fine,” Arafinwe said and nudged his brother playfully before he dug around in the basket. “Do not be like that, Nolo.” To the child he said, “Oh look, your big brother thought of everything.”

Arafinwe unearthed the cloth star. He waved it in front of Macalaurë who twirped, utterly captivated, and waved his hands about to catch his wayward toy, crooning.

“Come now, we will have a little fun and once I tire of the responsibilities of child-rearing, we will bring him right back.”

Nolofinwe groaned and rested his head on the picnic blanket. Next to him, Arafinwe played with their little nephew without a care in the world.

“Is my swan ready yet?” asked Arafinwe over his shoulder and Nolofinwe returned dutifully to the apple to take his mind off of things.

* * *

True to his word, once the child had fallen asleep, they packed up all the things strewn about and bedded Macalaurë back in his basket and made their way to Fëanáro's domicil.

Arafinwe hummed even as the gravel crunched ominously beneath their boots. How exactly mere stone could accomplish this, Nolofinwe was not certain, and yet he could not help feeling uneasy the closer they came.

He could see Fëanáro, presented from the side, profile framed by the arch of the carved window. The perfect picture of concentration, his ears where angled lazily, eyebrows knitted together. He looked rather harmless, pleasant even. Until Fëanáro turned and spotted them.

The door flew open and Nolofinwe flinched like on who had angered a bear and only now realised they had been covered in honey.

Nolofinwe would have preferred the bear. True, from what he had heard they did not kill as much as they held you down at the most convenient angle and devoured you alive; But that was still a kinder fate than anything Fëanáro would come up with, probably. Most likely.

But Arafinwe, who truly had no survival instinct when it came to his brother, smiled and waved as Fëanáro ripped the gate to his garden open and marched out to meet them. Like a thunderhead, he had already started to boil over, ready to explode into every direction.

He threw himself up to his full height, presence larger than life and opened his mouth to rain insults and threats.

“Shush, he is asleep.” Arafinwe chided as he handed the basket over. Fëanáro, who had prepared to explode with fury, now looked as if he was trying to swallow his tongue to keep absolute quiet at hearing that.

Arafinwe smiled, saw his chance and held his speech brief, “Don't be too harsh on Nelyo, I'm certain he meant well; Macalaurë must be hungry by now. Maybe needs a nappy change, _goodbye_!” And with that the waif and his brother where off, hurrying along the gravel path towards the gates before Fëanáro could gather his wits about him.

Macalaurë gurgled in his sleep and wiped a tiny fist over his eyes, unaware of his father's choler that had just fizzled out impotently.

* * *

Nelyafinwe, unhappy at the sudden return of his gift, stomped his foot in frustration. “They tattled!” Had they no honour? Apparently not. Regifting regifted gifts, how _rude_!

“You sold your brother?!” Fëanáro called and pressed his ears back when he remembered Nerdanel and exactly what it would mean for him if she would hear.

At the noise, Macalaurë came awake, cranky and confused. Quite unhappy with his situation, he did the only thing he could and cried. His shrieking echoed through the halls and as Fëanáro lifted him from his bed to comfort the tiny elf, Macalaurë stretched out his arms to either side like a starfish.

Then Fëanáro remembered she was off to the quarries and became louder again. Also that he was still angry. Though angry seemed to swiftly shift into furious rage. That was normal and Fëanáro was glad that fatherhood had not robbed him of his temper. He would never allow his character to be culled by the strains of upkeeping family relationships.

Macalaurë continued to squall, already quite red in the face. Fëanáro rocked him against his chest, shushing him gently while he berated Nelyafinwe.

“I did not! I did not get anything for him!” Nelyafinwe called back, unimpressed by his father's anger.

“Insolence! And these _muds_ , of all the elves you could have pawned him off to, brought him back!”

“ _Well_ ,” Nelyafinwe called, threw his arms back as he turned and stormed away towards his room, “That's just _wonderful_! Uncle Ara doesn't want him either!”

Finding himself in a rare moment of not knowing what to do, Feanaro whirled around and called after a retreating Nelyafinwe, “ _Half_ -uncle! Go to your room!”

“He wouldn't be the only one who didn't!” Nelyafinwe called back.

A door slammed and Fëanáro was left with his infant son to comfort. Well, that and impotent rage to stuff down for he could hardly set anything on fire with little Macalaurë still wailing in his arms.

This did not please Fëanáro who could not rage like he wished. A proper angry outburst would do wonders and he needed an excuse to reorganise his workshop anyhow. Usually he did that after he had destroyed everything beforehand. It kept things fresh and interesting.

Macalaurë sniffled miserably while Fëanáro stroked his back and rocked him.

* * *

Only Macalaurë ate dinner this time and this he did with great appetite, for he had quite the adventure behind him. Nelyafinwe had been sent to bed without any and Fëanáro had forgotten to eat after he had put Macalaurë to bed and retreated to his work.

And so, after Nelyafinwe had made sure his father was busy, he snuck out of his room to have a late snack. Perhaps it was not so bad, having Naneth gone for a while. It meant he was free to raid the pantry for things he liked without having to worry that she heard. He tore through the the honey glazed pastries, devoured what was left of the cake from high tea and finished his meal with every strawberry he could find.

Satisfied, unconcerned by any consequences and far less cranky than he had been, he wandered through the silent halls.

Well, not _entirely_ silent.

If he would have strained his ears, Nelyafinwe would still hear his brother shaking his toy around. For such a small elf, Macalaurë could keep his rattling up for an astoundingly long time. It was easy enough to drown out, he supposed and huffed as he went past the half open door and into his own room.

There was silence.

That wasn't right.

Nelyafinwe perked his ears. Without much hesitation, he made his way to the nursery before had even wiped the last crumbs from his lips. For, even though he had been punished most unfairly, he was now the head of the house, what with his father asleep.

It could have been that his brother had fallen asleep, yet Nelyafinwe doubted that. The rattling would slow until it faded as Macalaurë could not keep the motion up indefinitely. Not that he had not tried...

For it to have cut off so abruptly...

Pushing the door open and assessing the situation gave the reason away quite easily.

The stuffy had fallen out of Macalaurë's grip. It was not far, only a few inches to the side. But for Maedhros' tiny, helpless brother it might have been the ocean in between for all the lack of power to change it.

Macalaurë mewled, the first tears had already started leaking from glossy, grey eyes.

Before any wailing could send his father running, Nelyafinwe took the star and shoved it back into his brothers grip.

The tears stopped and Macalaurë cooed quietly and very much pleased.

There, that had not been very hard; Nelyafinwe was not certain what the fuss was all about. Perhaps only more proof that his parents where woefully unprepared to deal with the situation. Luckily, they had Nelyo who had it all under control.

He wondered if Macalaurë liked stories about mischievous magpies. With the proper voices, of course. There was only one way to find out and Nelyafinwe hurried to fetch his picture book.

When Nerdanel returned, she found her husband once more passed out over his worktable and both her sons in Macalaurë's crib, fast asleep and cuddled together.


End file.
